


Since You've Been Gone

by nessiepresso



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: After 3x05, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessiepresso/pseuds/nessiepresso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles takes a look at Scott's slow healing wound, he begins to understand a thing or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since You've Been Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This is based of the lovely alphavenger's [AU gifset](http://alphavenger.tumblr.com/post/54539539354/teen-wolf-au-after-scott-has-healed-there-are-no).   
> I started posting it as a drabble on tumblr, but then edited and re-wrote what I've done with the precious help of [Cookie](http://cookiesees.tumblr.com) (I feel like I should get your statue built or something, seriously). I also want to thank [Emoussie](http://emoussie.tumblr.com) for her beta testing at an early round.   
> I'm not exactly 100% happy with the final version, but I challenged myself to post it to ao3, so here we are!

Scott and Stiles were the last two left in the locker room.

Looking at how slowly Scott was healing was like a punch to Stiles’ stomach. The boy didn’t know how to feel. He felt relief for his best friend - Scott was healing, even slowly, it was a good thing; but he felt a creeping sorrow, sadness - Derek Hale was dead, that was why Scott was healing so slowly.

It finally sank in. Derek. Dead. Derek Hale. Derek, the alpha. The sourwolf. No more Derek. He gasped for air. His lungs felt too tight. He was dizzy. His eyes burned. He tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words right out his tongue.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice was far away. “Stiles? Are you okay, Stiles?” Scott pressed a hand to Stiles’ shoulder, but he hardly felt it.

“I- ” He took a deep, painful breath. “Derek… He…” Stiles clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down, to not cry, to stop-- don’t say it, don’t make it real. “He’s dead. I-” His mind couldn’t keep up with his body. Tears stung his eyes, “I wasn’t there to help him, this time; he’s gone now.” Taking a deep breath, he added, lowering his voice in a whisper, “and it hurts more than it should.”

Scott tightened his grip on Stiles’ shoulder, trying to guide him, to a bench. “If anything... If anything it was my fault, Stiles, not yours.”

“I just can’t-” _I just can’t take it. He can’t do this. It’s not fair_. Stiles rubbed at his damp eyes with his sleeve.

In a daze, Stiles headed for the door. Scott called after him, but it all sounded like a dull hum in Stiles’ ears.

 

He walked aimlessly through the streets of Beacon Hills, coming to a halt in front of the Derek’s building. _What am I even doing here?_ He didn’t dare go in.

He felt the tears again.  “Damn it, Stiles.” His nails were digging at the palm of his hand. He got up, raked his hands through his hair. Took a deep breath.

“Get it together, man,” he sighed.

He’d go home and bury his head in his pillow, try to sleep it off.

 

Stiles fell on his bed like a dead weight. If he was being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for weeks. Not since Heather- Actually, not since way before that. His dreams were always filled with the lingering fear that someone around him would die.

As soon as he closed his eyes it started: Blood. Vivid images of his friends being brutally murdered by Deucalion. Scott crawling towards him, a cut across his forehead. Screams. Growls. Derek. Derek whispering into his ear. _It’s going to be fine_. _No, it isn’t, you’re dead_ , Stiles wanted to say, but his lips wouldn’t move. He felt blood dripping down his forehead.

It felt like he was drowning. Stiles woke up, gasping for air.

His bedroom window was open and the curtains moved in time with the wind. He glowered.

His forehead felt weird. Lifting a hand to touch the skin, Stiles discovered blood. _Okay, so that part of the dream was actually real?_ Of course, he just had to wake up to the typical, horror film, someone-was-here scenario. Staying calm was impossible.

He got out of bed and closed the window, after looking outside to make sure no rabid werewolves were out to get him or his dad. He looked at the door. It was still closed. A B&E wouldn’t carefully close the door, he figured.

 

After cleaning the blood off his forehead and looking for any signs of break-in, Stiles sat on his bed.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. 10 new messages. 10 missed calls. _Scott, Scott, Scott, unknown number, Scott—_

Startled by a sudden spark of hope and realization, Stiles called the number.

_Bip. Bip. Bip._ “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice. Stiles froze. Never before had he wanted to have super-hearing-abilities so much as at that moment. He tried, unsucessfully, to listen to whatever was happening in the background. “Hello?” The woman tried again.

Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pin-point who it belonged t— _Ms. Blake_. That was Ms. Blake’s voice. Stiles was sure.

He hung up.

No, he thought, he had Ms. Blake number from that text she’d send for her class. This was someone else’s. He texted the number to everyone he could remember.

  
  


Nobody seemed to know whose number it was. But Stiles would find out. And then he’d find out why that person was in touch with Ms. Blake. And why they had called Stiles. _This was, this was_ —

“Stop right there.” It was Lydia.  “I heard about you storming off yesterday. That, and your obvious awful combination of layers – which you also wore yesterday – tell me you are up to something stupid.” Lydia stood in front of Stiles, hand on hip.

“Yeah, Lydia, can we not do this now? I’m kind of busy here.” When Stiles tried to walk past her she grabbed his arm and gave him one last concerned stare, looking for something. Then she shrugged and let go of him.

“Go, then.”

Lydia wasn’t stupid. She might not have been that close to Stiles, but she had the same dangerous habit of filling her head with work and overlooking everything else. He was sure she saw right through him.

  
  


Stiles knew Ms. Blake was teaching class on his free period. He also knew which car was hers.

If only he knew someone who could get the car open for him! Even so, Stiles observed and processed every little detail he could: the plate, the condition, the books on the backseat, lunch on the passenger’s seat, empty water bottle, window cracked slightly, traces of what looked like fingerprints on the window — _like fingerprints on the window_.

He leaned a bit closer. The substance was dry now. Could be just dirt. He meticulously checked the window in all its length. Next to the bottom there was a blob of something between red and brown. Definitely blood.  

That blood could just be Ms. Blake’s. But he had been in class with her the hour before. He’d seen no cuts, nothing that could explain this. And she didn’t seem to know it was Stiles on the phone, last night. _Or maybe she pretended not to know_.

_The call, the blood on the car... the blood on his forehead..._ What could it all mean? Maybe he was just forcing a connection. Maybe he just, no, he definitely just needed it, desperately. Some kind of disctraction.

Stiles forced himself to stay away from the suspicion creeping into the back of his mind. _Blood on a car in Beacon Hills High School, no reports of other accidents or injuries, they never retrieved his body, who else would come into Stiles room in the middle of the night and leave like that? It could be him_.

It was a silly thought. But he wanted to believe; he needed it. Maybe a bit too much. There wasn’t even anything supporting his theory. What was Stiles even thinking?  
  


 

"Dude, I'm telling you, there was blood on the window!"

"Dude. I-" Scott sighed, setting his lunch tray down on an empty table.

"I— I know how this sounds, but you gotta trust me on this one, Scott, alright?"  Stiles sat down across from his best friend and propped his chin in one hand, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Tell you what, can you get me the keys to his loft? We'll just look around. Just to, you know, eliminate possibilities." So he could force himself to let go.

Scott eyed him. "Stiles, are you-- Do you want to talk? You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. What’s with the wishful thinking? Why are you so convinced Derek’s still alive? I mean, of course I want him alive, too, but-- I don't know, man. If I didn't know any better I'd say you—" but Stiles didn't let him finish, getting up and beginning to walk away.

"So you'll get me his key, great. Gotta run."

"But I—" Scott didn't get to finish; Stiles was long gone.

  
  


Scott sighed and waved a pair of keys in front of Stiles. They had arranged to meet outside Derek’s building.

“You’re the man.”

He heard a voice as soon as he opened the door. Instead of making his presence known – there wasn’t much point, because if Peter, Cora, or any other werewolf was there, they knew Stiles was there, too – he quietly looked over the entrance, then walked up to the lounge.

The sounds came from Derek’s room. Stiles looked at Scott, waiting at the door, and motioned for him to come along. Scott motioned for Stiles to leave the loft.

Stiles proceeded forward.

He could see two people. They didn’t seem to notice him —  _Wait_. There was Derek! He really wasn’t dead, and Stiles’s heart definitely wasn’t racing like crazy, no, bu— _Oh my god, was that Ms. Blake kissing Derek?_

_Fuck fuck fuck_ — Stiles backed slowly into the lounge and then exhaled, his hand clamped his mouth. Well, that was certainly enough of surprising Stiles for one day.

He walked out of the loft, Scott staring after him.

"Stiles—" he attempted.

"What?" Stiles was bemused. Well, seeing your teacher kissing a sulky undead alpha werewolf tended to do that to a person, didn’t it?

Stiles finaly noticed Scott's worried look. "Derek's alive! This is good! We can stop worrying!”

"Right, yeah." Scott knew his best friend, and Stiles knew just how well Scott knew him. Stiles would talk when he was ready, and Scott would wait for it, even if he already knew it.

 

 

Later that night, Stiles closed himself in his room, banging his head against the closed door.

"That's not how you knock. Then again, you obviously don't know how to."

Derek was sitting on a chair next to the window; he seemed to be all healed.

"Looks like I've learned from the best." Stiles sat down on his bed, taking a deep breath and glancing briefly at Derek. Did they really have to do this now? Stiles just wanted to bury his head in his pillow and sleep.

The was a moment of - very uncomfortable - silence before Derek broke it.

"Your heart." That startled Stiles. He hadn't noticed how nervous he suddenly felt.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had spent the whole day thinking about Derek. Derek knew he had been there, of course Derek knew, and he had heard his heartbeat.

"So you need anything?” Stiles’ eyes darted around the room, “or you just came to make sure I say nothing about you banging Ms Blake? Never took her for a werewolf sex type of person, but hey, teachers, am I right?"

"Shut up." Stiles shut up. "Whatever might have happened doesn’t concern you." A shadow passed his eyes, then he added, "Jennifer and I don't have anything. I-"

"Except first name basis and French kissing, apparently, and —" Stiles interrupted. Derek glared at him - was that, was that guilt in his eyes? - and Stiles added, "It's okay, I mean, none of my business. Just pick better next time, I don't want to picture you all over my teacher every time I have English classes!"

The expression on Derek's face implied Stiles should probably shut up now; the look he gave Stiles made the boy regret what he said. Stiles looked away.

"Like I said, _Ms Blake_ and I don’t have anything." Derek was squeezing the arm of the chair he was sitting on so tightly, Stiles noticed the fabric ripping at its seams.

"What did you come here for, anyway?"

Derek remained silent.

Stiles really, _really_ wanted to punch Derek right now, like really. Couldn’t he, just for once, speak?

“You don’t get off that easily. No, you know what - you owe us an apology, a real one.” _You owe me an apology_ , Stiles wanted to add. Instead he said, “You don’t get to go and leave _me_ -”, _crap_ , “leave _us_ hanging; like it’s nobody’s business.” Stiles exhaled sharply, a nervous hand fiddling with his hair.

“Do you have any idea how I felt? Huh?” He swallowed nervously, “And we went looking for you, Derek, no way in hell the almighty Derek Hale could be dead, no, no - he was just making out with Ms. Blake.” Stiles threw one hand out, pointing at nothing in particular. “And I don’t even care about her- I just—”

It was then that Stiles realized how close Derek actually was. _When had he moved_? He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Derek holding his arms, cupping his elbows, joining their foreheads. It was too much to deal with. Stiles’ eyes wandered from Derek’s hands, on his own arms, to Derek’s chest, to his face, his mouth in a tight line, his eyes fixed on him. And he had never realized how warm Derek felt, and he was really there. He was alive.

“And it makes me feel really stupid because, since you’ve been gone, I can’t think of anything else but your stupid – very dead too, in my mind – face.”

It was the thought of dead Derek that broke him — Stiles blinked, forcing his tears back, one still managing to fall freely. But he wanted to continue. Stiles opened his mouth, his lips dangerously close to Derek’s. He felt Derek stroke his cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the tear, and tension rose, as if at any moment Derek might close the distance between them. But he didn’t. He dropped his arms on his side and muttered something under his breath, looking away.

Stiles reached out and cupped Derek’s cheek, making Derek face him, looking in his strangely colored eyes like he was searching for something. He thought he was finally understanding – all the worrying, all the nightmares — maybe there was something about Derek that made Stiles’ heart beat fast — _woah, stop, that was extremely cheesy._

And then Derek finally spoke.“I didn’t- It was just one kiss.” Not knowing how to respond, Stiles looked away. He couldn’t hold it Derek against, he had no right to.

Derek backed away from Stiles’ touch, but the boy quickly reached out for the man and hugged him. Stiles could feel how surprised Derek was, how still. “Don’t die on me again, ok?”

“I’m sorry.” And Stiles felt Derek ease into the hug, his hands finding their place in Stiles’ back.

 

Derek would never tell Stiles how he had considered coming to him for help - had gone into his room at night, even - only to be overcome with guilt and leave, still wounded. Derek couldn’t bear to put him in danger.

In a moment of weakness he had even used Jennifer’s phone, mistakenly, to try and reach him, but Stiles hadn’t picked up.

Those were the things Derek couldn’t bring himself to talk about, right now. He leaned into the hug, taking in Stiles’ familiar scent and whispering, “I’m sorry.”


End file.
